Damned
by The Phantom
Summary: [X2 spoilers] Dangerous and disturbed, Jason - Mutant 143 - languishes in a useless body full of hate. Events in the movie as seen through his tragic, mismatched eyes. Very dark.


Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within. 

Author's Notes: Jason touched a nerve me, a sympathetic but angry nerve that lamented such a waste of life. So here's to you, Mutant 143. I hope this piece does him justice.

Damned

I'm so lonely.

No one realizes.

No one notices.

No one cares. 

And even if they did notice, would they even give a damn about it? Who would even lift their little finger to do anything for me? Not even my own father. 

I'm just a shell of what I used to be. I remember what it was like… back when I was… me…

I could run fast. I remember that the best of all. The speed. The wind whistling in my ears, making my eyes water and tearing at my hair with savage delight. Arms working rhythmically. The sensation of my legs pumping like the pistons of a well-oiled machine. 

God, I can't even feel my legs anymore…

The only part of me that still works is my mind. I feel like a broken old house, hit by a tornado or a hurricane, and when the rescue workers come through, they just see a TV running. The only thing left that still functions. 

My brain. The TV. 

I can tune it to any channel I wish, and I can make other people watch it. Strap them down in front of it like "A Clockwork Orange", pry their eyelids open until they scream for mercy. But I never stop. 

Why?

Because they're lucky. They can watch the shows, enjoy the entertainment. A TV can't watch itself. I'm stuck with the remote control, always blipping and pressing the buttons frantically, but I can't see anything. 

Only they can. 

And they don't appreciate it. 

The only person left who even bothers to give me a second glance is my father, and even then it's hardly what I want. What I need. I need love. Caring. Compassion. What I get is cool indifference, aloof examination, and the occasional poke and prod. 

Make that a TV without an antenna. Because this TV is running without really running. It's turned on, but nothing is actually coming out. The receptor isn't picking up any signal. You know why?

A TV can't run without an antenna to send it what it needs. 

And this TV – me – isn't getting what it needs. 

It's on and nobody's watching. 

Xavier! So, we meet again, old foe! I could laugh, if my face worked anymore. Pathetic, really, wearing that neural whatever-he-calls-it. Whatever he wants it to be, it is. And now it's on the Professor's head. How does it feel, Professor? He invented it for me, you know, invented it so he could clamp it on my head and shut me up whenever he feels like it. Now I can watch someone else squirm as they realize they're trapped in their own head. 

There are so many things I want to tell you, Professor; I want to yell at you, to scream, to taunt and jeer, something, _anything _to tell you that it's** all your fault. **It was you who set my father against me, you who exposed my mutation for what it was. You bastard! I could kill you!

If only I could move my arms. 

But even as the rage fades away, I realize that's not true, is it? You wanted to help me. You tried to teach me. I remember friendly faces. 

It all passes through my mind in a split second, vanishing in a wall of flame even as my own death is pronounced for the umpteenth time from the lips of my father. I can only stare sullenly, seemingly with no expression, when I'd like nothing more than to hurl both of them, father and professor, across the room. 

Xavier… reaching out my mind across the eternal gap between us, I brush against his consciousness gently, testing it, running my fingers across it. Because in my mind, I am standing now, my hands lightly dancing over his head, poking and prodding for every stab ever placed on me. He flinches. Did I hurt you, Professor? 

Not yet. Not yet. I know what I must do, but that sickening sentimental side is kicking in again. 

I can give you one last taste of happiness before it's all over. 

What do you want, Professor? What do you want? Don't try putting your shields up, it'll only hurt worse, and you know that nothing can keep me out once I set my mind to it. I'll just… slip in… you won't even notice as I tiptoe around your beloved memories, weaving in and out, touching, sampling, sifting it all together into a masterpiece. 

And you're standing. 

Isn't it beautiful? I'm giving you what you want. I'm giving you what_ I _want. I suppose that's why no one watches my channel; I'm only showing my preferences. If I were you, Xavier, I would wish more than anything to be able to walk again. I know I want to. So, since I can't give it to myself, I wrap up this lovely vision and gift it to you. 

Mother didn't like it. She said at dinner one night that she'd like to go on a safari someday. I took her seriously. From then on, the house was a jungle in her eyes. I even filled it with wild and dangerous creatures, to make it more real. Father was never home, just Mother and I playing in the jungle. She didn't seem to enjoy it, though, which irritated me because she could see it and I could not. 

In my anger, I went too far. 

It was when she "saw" herself being eaten by a leopard that she finally cracked. 

Then she wasn't home anymore. 

I had wanted to see her eaten by a leopard. I was that mad. But then again, I suppose that's not what she wanted to see. Too late now. I can never fix it, never go back, never return. Why dwell in the past?

Because here, Xavier, you're on your own two feet! You like chess, don't you? I've set up a game for you. In the office you love, with the view you cherish, that summer breeze you always open the windows for. __

_"Jason! Stop it!"_

Raw anger. 

The fury that courses through my veins now is indescribable. I would kill you, Xavier! Kill! Kill! Kill! I have offered you _everything that you ever enjoyed, _served it up on a_ silver platter, _and you turn it away! You don't know, do you? You_ just don't know! _What it's like to be utterly trapped? Drained like a snake is for its' venom? Unable to even form a_ facial expression _and you pretend you can sympathize!

Hypocrite!

Now the real work begins. I wanted to give you joy, a taste of ecstasy, and you flung it back at me like poison. 

Father has plans. 

Sickening, isn't it? Of course, you can't hear me talking, can you? I'm only talking in my mind, and the neural inhibitor won't let you in. But let me continue. I tend to be quite the thespian once I get started. But this is no comedy, no play of old. It's a human tragedy. And it's sickening. 

That is to say, my devotion to my father. You think it's pitiful, don't you? Pity my inability to realize his evil. Pity my inability to form other friendships. Well, I'll tell you something, Professor Charles Xavier:

When people shudder and look away from me, my father sees a weapon. 

When people avoid the very sight of me, my father seeks me out for my power. 

When people don't even think of me as a human being but an animal, my father thinks of me as neither, but as a mighty force of nature. 

He makes me feel like the king of the world. 

So let's begin his little game, shall we? 

I'll start. You're in the mansion. It's dark. But oh, what's this? The sounds of a child in distress. She's beautiful, isn't she? Her name is – was – Emily. A dear, dear friend of mine from childhood. See those pretty eyes? Just like mine. They convinced me that I was normal, if someone else could have those radical colors. 

It wasn't until my powers matured that I realized she was imaginary. She was me, reflected back in a feminine form, projected to comfort my wounded child self. Boo hoo. Pathetic I was then, and pathetic I am now, except now, I am powerful.

So I shroud myself in Emily's adorable form, knowing that a child in distress, especially a little girl, is one of the only things that can slip right past your defenses. 

The charade goes on, and I weary of it, even as we drift down the halls together, a guard conveniently materializing behind me to provide the momentum I lack. Around and around we go, down the corridors I only saw this morning when Father was telling me where to take you. 

In your mind, you're on your way to Cerebro. 

I'm somewhere else at the moment. 

Father still talks to me. Another reason I adore him. He doesn't just whisper with others about me like I'm not even there. He holds conversations with me, one-sided though they are, tells me how proud he is of me, tells me that the pain and agony of my life is for my own good. 

And I believe him. __

_"Jason."_

The snap of electricity that rushes through me is overwhelming. The voice, his voice, the only voice, is right next to my ear, which I wish could twist around and absorb every syllable. I want to tell him how glad I am to see him; I want to ask if I'm doing him proud. 

All I can do is widen my eyes and hope he understands. 

His words are channeled through me and into Emily, which she chirrups innocently into Xavier's ear. I'm hardly aware that I'm still conducting Xavier's episode of the show…

Father pats me on the shoulder, my feeble nerves still sending that touch directly into the core of my brain.__

_"Make me proud."_

Yes! I will! I will, I will, I'll do everything to prove to you that I can still do_ something. _I can be the weapon you want me to be, I can wreak all kinds of havoc you want. I'll plunge through the seven levels of Hell and back again if it'll get you to brush my shoulder again. 

Down to business. I must. 

Emily winds the professor into his job, her haunting voice pulling his strings finer than the greatest puppeteer. I_ am _the puppeteer, and I smile at my handiwork. The smile forms in my mind. My lips remain flat and expressionless. 

Snap. 

My eyes dart to the side._ There's someone else in here. _I fling the illusion at him, but it bounces off and ricochets around me like a laser beam reflected back from space. He taps a bizarre helmet on his head. My only emotion comes through Emily, who pants nervously. __

_"There's been a change of plans."_

Electricity again, even as the orders are whispered in my ear. The intruder leaves, the door closes, time to change everything. __

_All _the humans?

Father said so. 

Someone's here. I wish I could see behind me, I wish I could turn around. But all I can do is sit; there's two. Instantly I turn on the television, revealing to them only Emily, dawdling there on the ramp as though she might be looking for daisies. In my mind the word forms, coming from her lips.__

_"Hello."_

Movement. Hushed voices. I try to coax some information out of them.__

_"What are you looking for?"_

A shout, a woman's voice, piercingly sharp. It rattles around my brain, my senses reeling. I'm used to peace and quiet. This is not what I like. Shut up and watch the television.__

_"Who are you talking to?"_

Oh. My. God. __

_Cold. _

I can't remember the last time I felt any temperature at all. I'm always kept in a controlled climate, warm and comfortable. Cozy. My frail body can't cope with anything else. 

I must be dying. 

Turning into ice. 

But I will not let go that easily. Father has told me to do something. I must do it. Even if it kills me. So my determination doubles, and I stare ever more fixedly at the back of Xavier's head. 

Emily wails with my own terror. 

I'm afraid of the cold. 

Can't cope. 

Even as my body freezes…

…the vision melts. __

_He's going to be so mad at me!_

Professor… your eyes hold only accusation as you turn to look at me. Hurt. Pity. Worst of all, pity. Don't try talking to me now. I would avert my eyes, but I can't, and your thoughts enter me. You say only one thing. __

_"I'm sorry."_

Thank you, Professor. 

Goodbye, Professor. 

It's time to go now, I suppose. All must come to it, even gods like me who walk among mortals like the rest of them. It's a relief, in a way, knowing that in less than an instant I'll be out of this shell, out of this carcass, out. Where will I go? Up or down? Is there anywhere for monsters like me? That's not what worries me. Only one thing makes me want to cry. 

Who will weep for me?

Who will notice that I'm gone? Who will even know I existed? Will anyone put flowers on my grave? 

Will I have a grave? 

Who will weep for me?

And then the professor's voice stirs in the back of my mind.__

_"I will, Jason. Rest in peace."_

I will. 

I can't look up, can't turn my head, but I can feel the ceiling rushing towards me. It's closer, closer, though it feels like it's taking a lifetime to get here. 

My turn.   
  


Cue up "The Star-Spangled Banner". 

Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our broadcasting day. 

And the TV turns off. 

~ End


End file.
